


Ride

by kittenofdoomage



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Drabble, F/M, NSFW, NSFW text, Oneshot, PWP, Reader Insert, Sex, Smut, explicit - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-01
Updated: 2016-02-01
Packaged: 2018-05-17 16:32:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5877808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kittenofdoomage/pseuds/kittenofdoomage
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Summary: More post hunt smut</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ride

There were some hunts that didn't leave you physically injured or tired. Sometimes these were the worst ones. Seeing a mother who'd lost a child, or a family forever changed. Kids without parents, or someone losing the one they loved.

Yeah, those were the hunts that hurt the most.

And those were the ones that brought you and Dean closer together.

There was never any talking after those hunts. Silence would fill the Impala, sometimes broken by a soft rock song on the radio, or Sam snoring gently in the front seat. Dean wouldn't even look at you until you got back to the bunker, or motel, or wherever it was you were due to lay your head that night. Sam would go to his respective room, and it would still be silent.

This hunt had been one of the worst. A pregnant wife, left alone, after witnessing her husband being torn apart by vampire. She was so far along, and facing the future completely ruined, heartbroken and without anyone to turn to. You hadn't wanted to just drop her off at the hospital and go.

But being a hunter didn't include after-care. You weren't a psychiatrist, and you couldn't explain the things she'd seen to her battered mind. It was hard enough to process it on your own.

As soon as you'd gotten back to the bunker, and Sam had disappeared, Dean's hands had sought you out, pulling you close. You buried your face in the crook of his shoulder, just letting him hold you for a few moments.

When he'd pulled back, looking down at you, you'd smiled a little, although it was tinged with sadness, and released your hold on him, save for your fingers holding onto his, before pulling him towards the bedroom you shared. He followed willingly, keeping close to you but not crowding,

Until the door shut, and the outside world was cast aside.

His touch became desperate as he pulled your shirt over your head, not willing to break from you lips too long to remove it. His kisses were shallow, but filled with a need to reaffirm whatever bond held you together, and his fingers left burning desire trailing over your skin. You arched into his touch, pulling his clothes off as quickly as he was yours, before the both of you fell to the bed in a mess of tangled limbs, bruises and desperation.

Dean always had a system for this sort of lovemaking and tonight was no different. It was like he wanted to reassure himself that you were real, and there, underneath his warm body, not a figment of his imagination. He knelt between your bare legs and kissed your forehead, and your nose, making you giggle a little, his fingers holding onto your waist as he did so. Then he pressed a chaste kiss to your mouth, before tracing your jaw with his lips. He would always pause at the hollow of your throat, and sometimes you'd notice his finger tap in time with your pulse for a few seconds, before he slipped further down. He did that tonight, his fingers pressing into your waist as he felt the rhythm of your heart underneath his mouth. His hands came up after, running down your arms, holding you down with the softest touch when he reached your wrists.

He spent time licking and sucking around your nipple, always fascinated with the way they hardened, the areola tightening and the skin puckering up to welcome his mouth. He relished the noise you made when he gave your erect nub a little twist with his tongue, and the gasp of disappointment and then joy when he abandoned one breast for the other.

After he was satisfied you were turned on, he continued his journey south, using his tongue to trace the outline of your ribs underneath your breasts, tickling you a little, a smile pulling at the corner of his mouth as you wriggled, laughing underneath his touch. His hands held you firmly but without pain, and he kept moving, his tongue dipping into your belly button and out again. His grip left your wrists to slid down to your thighs, and he parted them a little more, exposing your already wet cunt to the cool air of the bedroom. As he pulled his tongue down, over the pudgy swell of your belly that you hated and he adored, you groaned, desperate for his attention to be on all the right places now.

And as usual, he bypassed your pussy to keep licking and nipping a trail down your legs. You groaned, twisting in the sheets, not willing to ruin the moment by speaking, but needy for his touch now, and Dean knew it. He kept going, until he was practically hanging off the end of the bed, his lips massaging the high sensitive points of your thighs, knees and finally, down to the arches of your feet. His fingers rubbed each foot individually, making you whimper as he watched you, the hard evidence of his arousal bouncing against his bare thigh.

When he released your legs and crawled up your body again, you seized his shoulders with your hands, pulling him close. There was no time for foreplay here, and you knew it. That would come later, when you were both satisfied the other was real, and there, and not leaving.

As Dean thrust into you, you cried out, no words, just the noise to let him know he was there, filling you. He grunted, pressing his lips to yours, his tongue pushing past your lips to tangle with yours, swallowing down your keening cries as he picked up a rhythm of strong strokes into your body. He didn't touch you anywhere else, using his arms to hold you close to his body as he relied entirely on the strength and flexibility of his hips to plunge into your body.

Your thighs quivered as you neared your completion, savouring each stroke he made against you, the feel of his flesh pressing into yours as he continued to kiss you, only breaking for air. The both of you were so close together, the continuing movements of your bodies so slow, but deliberate, that it didn't take long for you to break away from his mouth, crying out your climax as Dean kissed your neck and jaw.

Sometimes you thought he might do that to stop himself from whispering desperate words of confirmation, or maybe to stop from crying.

When he came, he looked you in the eyes, his jaw clenching, his entire body tensing as he held himself close to you, buried to the hilt. You kept your arms wrapped around his neck, playing with his hairline until he was finished, the warmth of his come spreading through you.

It was the only time Dean cuddled, after a difficult hunt. He'd hold you close the entire night, his fingers painting an invisible pattern on your belly. You'd make love several times, until it was almost back to the rough, dirty talking sex you were used to.

The next morning, you'd shower together.

And the sparkle would be back in his green eyes.

You always knew the best mornings would come after the worst hunts.

 


End file.
